


Home is Where

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Apocalypse (2016) - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Hugs, Canon Compliant, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, M/M, Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re telling me that you and Hank have been living together over twenty years and you’re not sleeping with each other?!”</p>
<p>Or, Erik does some matchmaking, tries to deal with his grief and finds something else to carry on living for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Where

Erik knew that he couldn’t stay in the mansion much longer.

It was the children. It had been bad enough when they had feared him, shrunk away when he had come near, whispered uneasily to each other and tried to avoid his eyes. Every time he saw it, it made his insides squirm with shame, guilt, horror at what he had done. It was hard, being around people who rightfully feared you, who knew only your worst. He hadn’t thought anything could be as bad as that.

But now, it was worse. Because they were beginning to _like_ him. Now, there were shy smiles when he was seen, children edging close to hear him speak. Today, Mary had come to him in tears because she had broken a necklace, begged him to fix it for her. He had, showing her how the metal could twist together and she had beamed at him, thrown her arms around his neck with the casual joy of a happy young child who had been given a gift.

He was learning their names.

He was beginning to care.

He couldn’t. He wasn’t ready. He had to get away before they became too real. Before their inevitable struggles and miseries became too much for him. Before he had to face the fact that he couldn’t save them either.

Mind made up, he went to find Charles to let him know. He knew his friend would be disappointed, although Charles had been careful not to try and pressure him even slightly one way or the other. He’d simply said that Erik should take the time he needed for anything he wanted. He had been incredibly good to Erik, Erik couldn’t deny that. Whenever it had become too much, Charles had been at his side with a gentle touch, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. When he had realised that Erik wasn’t sleeping, he had invited Erik into his bed again without pause, held him close and soothed him until he could sleep, apparently not minding that he was putting his own life on hold to protect someone who had almost killed him more than once.

He would never understand Charles Xavier.

Charles was sitting by himself in his study, sifting through sheaves of paper. He smiled distractedly when Erik walked into the room, as though he had no idea that Erik had been about to enter. Erik wondered how long that particular trick had taken to perfect. It doubtless made a lot of people more comfortable. Charles had become better at hiding his telepathy over the years.

“I can’t stay, Charles,” he said, without any preamble.

Charles slowly put the papers down and looked at him. Erik hadn’t yet got used to this new version of Charles. The suit he was wearing suited him and Erik supposed the baldness would, given time. Right now, Charles just looked a little strange. Erik tried not to think about that too much. He was sure Charles was sick of hearing it already.

“Are you sure?” Charles asked quietly. It was all he said, which Erik appreciated. He didn’t want to think very much about where he would go or what he would do. He had no family. No friends. He didn’t know where he would go.

But he couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t a world that he could belong in. He would have to find something else, somewhere else and start again.

“Oh Erik.” Charles reached out a hand, touched his wrist with gentle fingers. Erik swallowed, trying to get his thoughts and feelings under control

“You know I have to go,” he said, his voice rough.

“I know,” Charles said quietly. “But I will miss you terribly, you know.”

“Rubbish,” Erik said because this was easier than anything emotional. “You won’t have _time_ to miss me, your students will distract you. Perhaps once I’ve gone, Peter will transfer his affections onto you and stop appearing whenever I am trying to have a moment of quiet, asking “whatcha doin” in that aggravating way of his. And I know that Hank will be glad to have you to himself at nights again.”

Charles gave him a blank look. Erik looked back, expectantly, expecting Charles to make a joke of some sort or just shrug or even tell Erik it was none of his business. Charles just continued to stare at him, as though Erik had spoken another language.

“Hank?” he said.  
“Well, you know,” Erik said, very slightly non-plussed by this non-reaction and feeling as though he needed to fill the silence up. “The fact that you’ve been letting me in your room must have been a bit of a dampener on things.”

“Why would Hank care that you’re in my bedroom?”

“Because it means _he_ isn’t?”

Charles blinked, then looked away. Erik frowned.

“You _are_ sleeping with each other.”

“No, actually. We’re not.”

Erik managed not to gape but it was a near thing.

“You’re telling me that you and Hank have been living together over twenty years and you’re not sleeping with each other?!”

“You can live with someone and not be attracted to them,” Charles said, his tone going rather high and mighty. Erik raised an eyebrow.

“You can indeed,” he said dryly. “But in this case, he is certainly attracted to you and I’ve known you too long for you to dissemble with me. Why on earth haven’t you made a move on him if he’s too shy to make a move on you?”

Charles was actually blushing now, something that Erik hadn’t seen all that often. He also hadn’t seen Charles lost for words but it was clear that this had happened now; Charles made a few attempts to speak and then just looked away, neck as pink as his cheeks. Erik folded his arms.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You made a move on him at some point, he panicked and rejected you even though he wants it and you’ve been pretending it didn’t happen ever since?”

“Not exactly,” Charles muttered. “I mean … I suppose … it could have been like that.”

“It _could_ – ah. You were drunk, I take it?”

“Could we change the subject please?” Charles asked, his voice taking on the aspic tone that Erik had heard him use a few times before when he was trying to silence people. Erik was not going to be silenced.

“You were drunk,” he said. “And you kissed him and probably embarrassed him but you don’t remember it very well?”

“Erik, this conversation is pointless. And over.”

Charles began to move himself out of the room. Erik gently reached out and touched his shoulder, not trying to stop him but not wanting him to leave while angry.

“Charles – ”

“Please, Erik.”

Erik let him go. He waited a few moments, then went to find Hank.

Hank was in his new laboratory. Some of the children were helping him set up for some sort of experiment, watching Hank with admiring eyes as they did. Hank didn’t seem to have noticed, which was typical for him. Hank glanced up, saw Erik watching and his eyes hardened instantly. Hank did not like Erik, which was not something Erik could blame him for. He couldn’t think of a single interaction that they had ever had that hadn’t been fraught with _some_ kind of tension. Of course Hank viewed him as a threat. 

“Do you need something?” Hank said, with an obvious attempt at politeness.

“To talk to you.”

Hank frowned and shrugged his shoulders. He was taking his serum again, something that Erik tried not to think about. The choices Hank made weren’t anything to do with him.

“What about?” Hank asked, his voice very neutral.

“Charles.”

Hank paused for a moment, then moved over to the children and gently shooed them out. He was almost as good with the children as Charles was, clearly popular. It was hard to imagine the uncertain youth that Erik remembered helping others find their true potential but it seemed to be happening – and happening well. Hank wasn’t the man he remembered.

“Is Charles all right?” Hank asked and his voice was filled with such concern, such _tenderness_ that it made Erik hurt to hear it. It was easy to replace that pain with anger. It always was.

“He’s fine,” he said. “Why aren’t you with him?”

“I … do I need to be?” Hank either hadn’t understood or was playing stupid. Erik folded his arms.

“Not with him. _With_ him. As in _dating_ , if we must use the children’s term for it.”

Hank went crimson and turned away quickly, apparently very interested in rearranging a chair that seemed perfectly well positioned already.

“I, why, why would we be dating? We’re not … we’re just friends.”

“Yes, Charles said that part. What I don’t understand is why you’re just friends after twenty-one years of pining.”

“Nobody is pining. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Erik wondered briefly about pulling a piece of metal off the light fittings and smacking Hank around the head with it. He restrained himself. He was proud of those light fittings, it had taken him a lot of time to curl the metal into the exact positions that they were in. Charles had been very impressed …

“You’ve lived together for twenty-one years. Charles clearly likes and respects you, you clearly worship him. One drunken kiss was enough to put you off, really?”

Hank twitched, a very obvious twitch. Erik moved around him, trying to look into his face. Hank didn’t seem to want to be looked at.

“You don’t understand, Erik. You don’t understand anything, you never do. Why don’t you just go and leave me to get on with important things?”

“Explain it to me, then. Show off your superior knowledge,” Erik said, folding his arms.

Hank looked at him and for a second, there was a snarl on his lips. He shuddered and Erik wondered if he was fighting transformation. He watched, folding his arms, as though this wasn’t anything very important. He wasn’t sure that Hank was actually going to answer him. It was very possible that Hank would do what Charles had done and storm out – or hit him, _then_ storm out.

“Yes, all right!” Hank suddenly spat out, his voice shaking. “Yes, I would like to “be with” Charles, if you want to put it that way. I don’t _worship_ him, you can’t worship someone you know that well, you’ve seen in that way. But if you mean that I love him, then yes, I do. And I also know that I will always, _always_ be second best to _you_.”

That hadn’t been what Erik had expected to hear at all. Some of his surprise must have showed on his face because Hank gave a derisive laugh.

“Really? You act surprised by that? Like you don’t know that you’re always going to be the first person he thinks of? You think anybody who knows him is at all surprised that he’s been letting you crawl into his bed every night since you met up again?”

“That is _not_ how it is,” Erik said. 

“Yes it _is!_ It will _always_ be like that and I, I don’t deserve that. So I won’t.”

“So you’ve given up before you’ve even tried?” Erik said, knowing his voice was filled with scorn and not caring.

“He kissed me, then said your name,” Hank said flatly. “I’d say that was conclusive enough.”

Erik opened his mouth to continue arguing, then closed it again. Hank had turned away again but his shoulders were shaking, very slightly. He was obviously unhappy and Erik felt awkward. Turning, he walked away because he suddenly didn’t know what to say any longer. He wasn’t going to change Hank’s mind. Probably nobody was going to change Hank’s mind except Charles himself and Charles was apparently too stupid to try.

He didn’t know why he was so angry about it. Why did he care if Charles and Hank didn’t want to attempt to be in a relationship? It shouldn’t matter to him at all, it meant that Charles would be waiting if he ever chose to recapture what they had once shared. Why should he care about anything that they did?

Only somehow, he did. Somehow, he found that the more he thought about it all, the more frustrated he was. It all seemed so _idiotic_. He could understand Hank’s paralysis but Charles’s? Charles, who was always so … so _involved_ , so willing to stick his neck out for anybody else. Why couldn’t he do that here? Why couldn’t he get over himself and just tell Hank to forget some stupid drunken mistake?

Unless what Hank thought was true, of course.

But Erik didn’t believe that. Not from Charles. Oh, he knew Charles still loved him. There was no denying what was between them, what would always be between them. However far they moved apart, they would always be linked. But Charles had the capacity to love more than one person. Charles was practically _king_ of the ability to love more than one person. So why wasn’t he showing it? Why was he hiding?

Shame. Shame because he’d realised he liked Hank during his lowest ebb. Shame because he’d called Hank the wrong name and had probably hoped that it would be Erik and couldn’t forget that. Fear that he’d never be able to get over that want.

Erik knew that fear. He’d told himself that he hadn’t needed Charles, that he hadn’t fretted or thought about the man, that he hadn’t missed him. It had been easy to pretend that he’d moved on – until he’d been put in prison and he’d had too much time to think. Too much time to dwell on the fact that Charles was special to him …

And then Charles had grudgingly come to rescue him and Erik had thought that Charles had moved on – not only moved on, but moved on with prejudice. 

Perhaps if things had been different, they could have fixed things. Perhaps if they’d talked. If _he’d_ talked.

But he hadn’t. They hadn’t. And things had changed forever. Things always kept changing, whether you wanted them to or not. And it hurt, it _hurt_ when they changed … most of the time.

He made up his mind in the blink of an eye but instantly buried the thought away behind shields that he knew Charles wouldn’t nose behind. He carried on with the day as normal, trying to shake off Peter and getting on with the things that he usually did. He tried not to notice the shy little smiles of the children or the occasional more direct bits of interest.

He waited until evening, then walked purposefully from his room to Charles’s. Charles wasn’t yet changed for bed and he smiled when he saw it was Erik.

“Is everything all right?”

Erik didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he scooped Charles up, balanced him against his shoulder and walked from the room, carrying him in his arms.

He suspected he was one of about three people that would get away with this move. Anybody else would probably find themselves suffering appalling hallucinations or just forgetting what was happening to them. However, he knew full well that Charles wouldn’t do that to him and he was right. Although Charles hissed furiously in his ear that this was _not_ appropriate and that Erik was to take him back to his room _immediately_ and Erik would _very sorry_ if he didn’t stop this _right now_ , he didn’t actually do anything to force Erik into obeying him.

Erik walked straight to Hank’s room and used his powers to shove the door open. Hank _was_ ready for bed and blinked owlishly as Erik unceremoniously dumped Charles onto his bed.

“Charles! Are you okay? What are you doing?!”

“You two are _stupid_ ,” Erik said through gritted teeth. “Life is short, it’s too damn short and you are both ridiculous. Work it out!”

He stalked out, slamming the door behind him and using his power to melt the lock. It wouldn’t stop Hank for long but it would slow him down long enough to force them into actually having a conversation. Perhaps even … more.

His stomach churned. Instead of heading back to his room, he walked up to one of the tower rooms and sat, staring out over the gardens.

He’d done the right thing. He knew that he had. Magda would have been proud of him.

Magda. Oh, he _missed_ her. He missed her so much and he was alone and he would always be alone.

Erik cried. He cried quietly and desperately, for Magda, for Nina. For the fact that he’d almost certainly just ensured that he and Charles were finished forever and that even though they had already been finished, it was a complete ending and it hurt. It _hurt_.

He wasn’t sure how long he cried for, or what finally helped him stop. Only that he had reached the stage where the tears were no longer coming and he was gulping to get his breath when the door opened behind him and Mystique quietly walked into the room.

She didn’t say anything. She just sat down next to him and handed him a handkerchief to wipe his face. Erik did so, rubbing his face.

“Charles sent me. He said you might need someone,” Mystique said quietly.

Yes, that was typical Charles, of course. Even in the midst of being in Hank’s arms – and Erik had no doubt that he was in Hank’s arms – he would still think of Erik. Still want Erik to be all right. 

“What did he tell you?” he asked roughly.

“Nothing more than that you needed me.”

She put her hand on his arm and Erik allowed it.

“I’ve probably just got your brother and Hank to fuck.”

Mystique didn’t bat an eyelid, of course, despite his crude terms. She shrugged her shoulders and squeezed his arm gently.

“They weren’t already?”

“No. Because they’re stupid. So I’ve fixed them. Life’s too short for stupidity.”

“I know,” Mystique said quietly.

Yes, she knew. She’d lost so much. They’d talked, when they’d been together. About losing family, about survival, about the cold and the fear and how you could never trust that it wouldn’t all be snatched away from you in the blink of an eye. That sometimes it was better to take control of that, to leave before you could lose ...

Erik had told Magda that once. She’d looked at him for a moment, then asked if he still believed it. If he would be leaving her before he could hypothetically lose her.

He had put his arms around her neck and told her she was his whole world. And she had told him not quite, which he hadn’t understood until she had put his hand on her stomach.

Oh. He _missed_ them.

He stared out over the dark grounds and wondered what he would find beyond them this time. What he would do, where he would go. He would be alone again – and he didn’t want to be.

But he couldn’t stay here.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“How do you _always_ do this?!” he snapped because it was all right to be irritated at Peter, Peter hardly ever seemed to notice. He was bouncing around them, wearing his goggles and grinning, still glad to have finally shed the cast on his leg.

“Are you two about to make out? Carrie-Anne said you two had a thing for each other but George said that there was no way and they had a fight and she dumped juice on his head, which was kinda a waste of juice ... ”

“You wear a lot of metal,” Erik told him. “I could throw you off the roof before even you could start running. Go _away_ , Peter.”

“No,” Mystique said. “I’ll go, I think. You two should talk. Life’s too short.”

She was staring at Peter, as though this ought to mean something to him. To Erik’s slightly surprise, Peter blushed and went still. Mystique looked at Erik.

“Don’t let him leave until he’s talked to you,” she said. She squeezed his shoulder once again, then walked to the door, closing it behind her with a firm click.

“What does she mean?”

“Um. Nothing? I don’t know? Women are weird?”

“ _You_ have no right to be calling anybody else weird, Peter. I said the first time I met you that I knew crazy. And if Mystique says that you have something to say, you have something to say. So say it.”

Peter stared at the ground. Erik took hold of the metal in his clothes in case he decided to run but unusually, Peter was showing no signs of needing to work off his excess energy by zipping around the place. He was just standing there, twisting his fingers together.

“While I enjoy actually seeing you stop speaking for once, it’s also irritating. Would you please explain? Is this something to do with why you follow me everywhere?”

“Yeah, I guess, kinda. I’m um ... um ... kinda your son?”

It came out as a question rather than a statement. Erik started at him, trying to decide if Peter was being metaphorical or not. Peter was pale and avoiding his eyes, his fingers still twisting themselves into knots.

“You’re ... what?” he prompted because he couldn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t accept what Peter had just said.

“I’m ... my Mom’s name is Naomi Maximoff. Dunno if you ever even knew her last name but that’s ... my Mom. And you two ... you know and I guess that’s how little Peter came to be and well, that’s ... how you’re my Dad.”

Naomi. Yes, Erik remembered Naomi. He had meant it to be a simple, uncomplicated coupling to work off tension but somehow, it had turned into a few weeks of extremely complicated coupling before he’d left to carry on his search for Schmitt. He hadn’t thought of her in years. When he had Magda had discussed people they had loved, he hadn’t even mentioned her.

“Are you ... sure?” he said blankly.

“Of course I’m sure! What the hell are you saying about my Mom?!”

Peter sounded so _indignant_ that Erik couldn’t help laughing, even though it wasn’t exactly funny. Peter glared at him and there was a brief flicker in those eyes and Erik knew the boy was withdrawing into himself, hurt and rejected.

“Don’t,” he said softly, reaching out a hand and touching Peter’s wrist. “I’m sorry, I ... it seems mad, that’s all. You ... are really my son?”

“Yeah. I ... couldn’t tell you before. Didn’t ... seem the right moment.”

Erik tried to imagine what he might have done if Peter had told him earlier. It was impossible to be sure but he thought he would simply have ignored it. He had been in such pain, such blinding, all-consuming pain. There had been no space for anything new or different. For anything at all except Magda and Nina and the flickering embers of what Charles and Mystique had once meant to him. He wasn’t even quite sure what he could do with the knowledge now. This boy, this eager, needy brat who had been following him around, so desperate for attention ... what was he to do with Erik? What was Erik supposed to do with him?

“I don’t want ... ” Peter mumbled. “I’m not ... I wanted you to know, that’s all. It doesn’t change anything. I’ll be ... here, being an X-Man and ... I dunno. Just wanted you to know.”

“Is that really all you wanted? Just for me to know?”

Peter nodded and Erik snorted.

“Rubbish. If that was all you wanted, you would have told me long ago.”

Peter shrugged and Erik could practically smell his hope. The desire for a family, the desire to know where he came from, the desire to have a father. He had risked his life for that desire, almost got himself killed for it.

Erik could understand that.

“I don’t know that I can be what you want, Peter. It’s ... I’m not a very good man. You might have noticed.”

“Well, you’re a bit crazy,” Peter said, in that thoughtful way he had that meant he was about to run his mouth. “Definitely on the weirder side. And, I mean, you’ve done some pretty freaky shit in your time, let’s face it.”

“Don’t swear,” Erik ordered. He didn’t particularly care if Peter swore or not, he just wanted to stem the flow of Peter’s babble and see how the boy would react. Peter blinked at him.

“ _You_ swear,” he said.

“Yes. But I’m your father.”

The words were heavy in his mouth, unfamiliar after so long, unfamiliar directed at this person. Peter’s face split into a huge, happy grin and he moved forward and put his arms around Erik’s neck.

Erik hugged him back. It felt clumsy, unnatural, not like when Nina had scrambled into his arms every day and he had swung her around as though he would never let her go. But it wasn’t horrible. In fact, it was ... good.

“I’ll try, Peter. I can try to be what you want me to be.”

“I don’t want that,” Peter said quietly. “Just want you to be you.”

Erik supposed he could manage that. 

He stroked Peter’s hair and looked at the boy, trying to see himself in those big, hopeful eyes. It was hard. There was nothing that obviously marked Peter as his, although now he knew, he could see Naomi in him, now that he was looking. That was rather odd.

“You and I both need to go to bed,” he said. “Consider this ... consider this my first fatherly order.”

The words felt strange in his mouth but it made Peter smile at him again, wide and happy. He walked with Erik instead of running, standing close to him. Erik allowed it, still confused, still uncertain and still knowing that he wasn’t going to stay. That he couldn’t stay. 

“Peter,” he said quietly. “Peter ... I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Peter blinked at him, then nodded his head. He didn’t ask any questions and Erik didn’t offer any explanations. He patted Peter’s shoulder, then went quietly to his room and closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a long moment.

Today had been a very strange day.

Charles and Hank didn’t behave any differently in the morning. They sat together at breakfast, chatting to any students that came close to them. When Hank looked at Erik, he blushed very red and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Erik couldn’t help smirking at that. When Hank left the room though, he gently bumped Erik with his shoulder and nodded his head and Erik knew that was the closest to an accord that they would ever come to. It was enough.

Charles just smiled at him, one of those warm smiles of his.

_Thank you, Erik_.

Erik shrugged his shoulders.

_You shouldn’t have needed my help to begin with_.

_Everyone needs help sometimes_ was Charles’s simple reply, then _Are you leaving today?_

_Yes_.

_Say goodbye before you do?_

There was a sad tone to the mental voice and Charles withdrew quickly, obviously not wanting Erik to feel it. Erik made sure to meet his eyes before nodding his head. He had lost too many people without being able to say goodbye. He didn’t intend to let it happen again.

It was his turn to go and find Peter, for once. The boy was preparing for a training session with Raven – the first to make Charles’s X-Men a reality. He jumped when he saw Erik and looked almost anxious, as though he expected Erik to say something unpleasant.

Erik put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently, looking into those eyes again and trying to think of the right words.

“I’m leaving today,” he said. “But I’ll come back. When I do, I’ll have done something to make you proud of me.”

Peter blinked eyes that looked suspiciously teary. He reached out and gripped Erik’s shoulder.

“I’ll make you proud of me too.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Erik said honestly. “I am already proud of you.”

Peter ran then and Erik knew why. He hoped that he hadn’t ruined Peter’s first day of training – but he doubted it. Peter felt deeply but he was good at pushing things aside for what mattered.

Apparently, he took after his father in that way.

His goodbye to Charles was quietly muted, in its way. Erik found it wasn’t so hard to actually walk away as he’d half-expected it to be. Charles was calm and almost playful and somehow, Erik knew that he’d be back again, not forever but to visit and not just for Charles or for Peter but for other things. Things that mattered.

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t have a plan. He knew that his life would be at risk, despite the official pardon that he had received for all the various things that he’d done. Humans were not a forgiving species and directly or indirectly, Erik had hurt a lot of people. His life would be difficult and he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for in the world outside.

But he had things to live for now.

That would be enough.


End file.
